


The Project

by BuckyBarnes85



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Battlestar Galactica (2003), Gotham (TV), Multi-Fandom, Star Trek, Supergirl (TV 2015), The Musketeers (2014), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Reader-Insert, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyBarnes85/pseuds/BuckyBarnes85
Summary: With a deadline to meet, you, the writer turn to some fictional friends for advice





	The Project

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quirky little tale where the reader is a writer and has imaginary conversations with fictional characters. My first post on AO3. Would love some feedback.

The blank page mocks you. 12 hours. That is all the time you have left, yet you have written nothing. You smash your hand against the keyboard. A jumble of alphabets appear. Well, that’s one way to start. 

With a loud grunt, you throw your head back in frustration, stabbing the backspace key. Out of the corner of your eye you glimpse Kara Zor-EL doing cartwheels. 

“Seriously?’ you snap. Kara jerks to a stop, standing affronted with her arms crossed over her chest. 

‘Thank you.” Turning back to your screen, you crack your knuckles. Something. You have to write something. How is nothing coming to your mind?

Beneath your hands, the desk vibrates. Great! The phone is ringing. Just the distraction you need. “’Lo?”

“Darling!”

‘Hey Gina.” You hope you are audible through gnashed teeth. 

“It has been ages, hasn't it, since we last met? How is that book going?”

“Great!” you lie. “What about yours?” You instantly regret asking. 

“Which one, darling? The fourth Psyched Killers is out next month. The 12th Gemma Newcase Mysteries is in final edits. Oh, and did I tell you? You'll hear it on the news but anyway, my Kerouac and The Car has been optioned for film. It's crazy.” A piercing laugh at the other end, followed by a burst of fiery light. Dark Phoenix hovers above you, smiling at you, her bright yellow eyes gleaming with deadly mischief. She mouths: Give her to me. You shake your head. Not now, you mouth in return. Phoenix will have to take Gina another time. 

The conversation meanders too long with Gina telling you about all the other amazing things she has been undertaking while still writing endless bestsellers. It isn’t the success that irritates you; it is the bragging. 

By the time the call ends, Dark Phoenix has left. Even planet-devouring celestial beings are bored by Gina. 

You return to the screen and the blank page. This is ridiculous. You have nothing to write. 

“Write the first thing that comes to your mind,” says Jim Gordon. “When I'm struggling with a police report, that's what I do.”

“But, with a report, you already know what happened, Jim. I need to make this up.”

“Do you? Isn’t it already in your head?” He smiles, tapping his temple.

You look at the screen again, conscious of Jim's eyes on you. You write the first word in your mind - Dumb. Jim covers his face with his hand. 

“Give her some time,” says Captain Janeway, placing her strong hands on your shoulders. “You will get to it. You need to find the story within yourself, not force it out. We found our way out of chaotic space not by pushing Voyager's engines to the maximum but by easing her out gently.”

“There is a flaw in your logic, Captain,” remarks Spock. 

Janeway's characteristic half-smile lights up her face. “Tell me, Mr Spock.”

“She has a deadline to meet, one that she is already very close to missing. Logic dictates that she not wait any longer to find the best story to write but write whatever she can to the best of her abilities.”

You nod. Spock always makes sense.

“You’re right, Mr. Spock, but…” Janeway circles around the table to stand beside you. “As considerable as her talents are.” You grin at the praise. “She still has to write the right piece for her client. There are constraints,” Janeway concludes. 

You nod again. “You’re both right, Captain, Commander. I think I really need to get into the right head-space for this project.” You get up from your chair and stretch. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must use the facilities.” Janeway and Spock stand aside for you to pass.

The ‘facilities’ is the only place where you can be alone with your thoughts. You run your hands through your hair, contemplating how you've found herself in this state. You can’t remember the last time you so ardently didn’t want to write something.

“What do they want me to write?” you had queried of your agent of ten years, Bella.

“Nothing fancy. It’s a great gig. The pay is nuts.” Bella had shown you the contract. The number of zeros had made your heart skip. 

“See, it’s great!”

“But, what do they want me to write, Bella?” 

Bella had muttered something under her breath. 

“Say again?”

“Romance.” Bella sighed. “They want a romance novel.”

You had stood up. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No. No, wait. Come on.”

“Let me get this straight. I told you that there is one thing I cannot write. Told you that a long time ago. And that is what you’ve got me a contract for? Seriously?”

“It’s not like that.”

You had gone into defensive mode, crossing your arms over your chest. “What is it not like, then?”

“They want a romance with a twist.”

“What does that even mean? Twist? What twist?”

“They said it’s up to you. There has to be romance in the novel, that’s the main focus, but everything else, up to you.” Bella had never looked more desperate.

“So, if I write a romance about space-pirates falling in love, that’s okay?”

“Sure! It sounds great.”

But the space-pirates idea hadn’t translated onto the page. You had begun writing it immediately after your chat with Bella but the story turned out to be crap. The space-pirates were friends who were secretly in love with each other but too afraid to confess their love. But, why is it a secret? Why can’t they just tell each other? There was no conflict you could think of that wasn’t cliché. Setting the story in space takes away many of the constraints contemporary humanity has, after all.

You leave the confines of the bathroom and walk straight into a table. Starbuck is dealing out cards to the awaiting Helo, Apollo and Athena. “Sit,” Starbuck commands.

You take a seat between Helo and Apollo.

“You’re over thinking it.” Starbuck shuffles the cards. “You’ve been given free reign so now you don’t know what to do.” She stares directly at you, challenging you to disagree. 

“I guess.”

“No. You know. When I’m in the Viper, I have a destination. Fly to Caprica. Take out some Cylons. Get back to the Galactica with a mission report. If you just put me in a Viper and send me out, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, you would, actually,” says Helo, grinning. “You’d find something to blow up.” The others laugh.

“But you’d still have to find it, which means a lot of flying around in the middle of space looking for nothing,” you interject. “I feel you, Starbuck.”

“You should go out.” Apollo turns up the corners of his cards. “Cooped up in here with all of us isn’t doing you any good.”

“Fresh air always helps.” Athena looks pleased with her hand. “The Galactica is great but that stale air gets to you after a while.”

“Thanks guys.” You stand up. “I think I will go out.”

You scramble into some clothes. You can take a short walk without the world ending. This isn’t a time-wasting tactic; you need to clear your head to write better. 

You grab the keys and hurry down the steps. Outside, the sharp breeze startles you. You take a quick breath, the cold burning the inside of your nostrils, and step gingerly onto the slippery pavement. 

The road is clear save for the Musketeers practicing their duelling. Athos and Porthos doff their hats to you while D’Artagnan bows, a wide smile across his face. Aramis turns and winks at you. You wink back, bowing your head a little. 

A thought crosses your mind. A period romance. A dashing swordsman. A fair maiden. Torn apart by their warring clans. People love that shit. Except, you despise such stories; setting anything in the past severely curtails your freedom to write women. No, you have to find a contemporary, or future, setting for this romance.

Where else can you draw inspiration from? You had liked the space theme but it would be a waste to use space or the future as a setting for a romantic story. 

“What about me and Paris?” B’Elanna Torres is trotting alongside you now. “You’ve always loved our romance.”

“Yes, but, romance wasn’t the central conceit for either of your arcs. There was more to both of you. Your struggle with your heritage; Tom’s rebellion against his father. Both of you trying to make your mark on a Starfleet ship that neither of you belonged on.”

B’Elanna nods. “You’re right. Anyway, hope you figure something out.” B’Elanna breaks into a sprint, not wasting time on a lost cause.

“Sure, thanks B’Elanna.”

The sky appears darker than before. It is still early in the day so it is probably the sign of a storm. But what if it was night? A romance that can only take place at night? You ponder. Why would you have to confine it to the night? Because during the day, the characters are somewhere else? No, they are someone else. 

You stop dead in your tracks. The Arrow looks down from the building beside you. You look up at him and catch a glimpse of red cloth behind him. Arsenal. You had always wondered why their relationship was simply platonic on the TV show. 

“What if it wasn’t, though?” you whisper to yourself. You do an about-turn and race back to the apartment. You have to write this down.

“You have a plan?” Rogue hands you a hoodie from the coat-rack.

“Yep!”

“You’re gonna have to change the names or there’re gonna be copyright issues to worry about.” Rogue slips her arm around Mystique, who nods in agreement.

“Yes.”

“And don’t go forgetting the ladies in the story.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Confine the romance to the guys,” replies Rogue. “Keep the action for the ladies.”

“That’s a brilliant idea!”

Rogue grins.

“Change the names later and flesh out the action in the second draft,” barks Mystique, her gravelly voice cautious. “Get the basic story down first.”

“Agreed.”

Your fingers fly over the keyboard. You can see it all in your head and your fingers struggle to keep up. Behind you, Rogue and Mystique fade away as do the Galactica crew and their card table. Your apartment shudders, the colours change, replaced by a basement with weapons and instruments. In the corner, you see a green figure and a red figure embrace. 

“We have a story for you,” says the Arrow, coming out of the shadows. “But our identities are a closely guarded secret. We must keep it that way.”

You nod, still typing. “Of course. The names will be changed. No one will know it’s you.”

“This isn’t the world people know,” says Arsenal, pushing back his red hood. “The Flash created an alternate universe. That’s where we’re from.”

“I understand.”

They sit down opposite you, look at each other and hold hands. “This is our story...”

The End


End file.
